Accidental
by That One Senpai
Summary: Accidentally doing something doesn't excuse the act. If anything, it makes the situation worse. A simple apology doesn't fix it. And Jessica doesn't want this, never wanted to be here. Responsibility is a heavy commitment and she doesn't know if she should change things for the better, or ride them out in an attempt at staying alive.


**000**

It was interesting, really. The weightlessness of falling. Down, down, down.

And then it catches, an invisible force tugging up that gives me whiplash. Like strings tied up in my limbs, pulling this way and that. Dizzying, controlling, _terrifying._ Soaring through the blank space of nothingness. This way and that, here nor there, what's real and what's not. It's discombobulating. Faster and faster, like a demented Disney ride on steroids, or that one time I let my little brother drive. A puppet jerked every which way by inertia.

As sudden as it started, it soon stopped. Like a marionette with it's strings cut, I plummet. Down, down, down. My very own rabbit hole.

But I'm not Alice.

I'm not okay when I land. It hurts like a fuckin' bitch and the crunch of my shoulder makes me want to puke my brains out. Still more preferable to landing on my back and possibly seeing a shiny wheelchair in my future. My head cracks on the hard, cold floor and I swear I see whole nebulas. My legs are aching and bounce slightly with the momentum of the fall. I'm forced to curl inwards to support the ribs I have no doubt are bruised or broken.

I don't know where the fuck I am, because this isn't like any acid trips I've been on.

There is white for miles around, signaling the voidance of color. The floor, sky, everything. My clothes are the only source of color from what I can see while laying on my side. The ground doesn't even get scuff marks from the dirt on my jacket. Magical dimension be damned, this is fucked up. The frustration only serves to make me more hysterical because _it doesn't make sense._

 ** _"Ohhh, rough landing? It's only to be expected, you humans_** _are **quite fragile..."**_

Let's get something straight real quick. It takes a while to get back up and I'm not exactly the most in-shape person. You're going to deal with an hour of me crying like a little bitch because I'm not one of those fanfiction girls that can teach a whole army a lesson and come out without a scratch. I'm lucky the fat in my arms and thighs absorbed a lot of the damage, even the little pudge on my stomach seemed to help, but the bottom line is that I'm totally alone in wherever the hell this is and don't give a shit. I'm gonna ball my eyes out when I want to.

And, I'm gonna do it right in front of this asshole. Yeah, I know who he is. Fucker cost me tons of tears as a kid when I watched the first anime and reboot.

My little gasps and sobs trickle away with the last tendrils of panic, replaced with trepidation. This was a god damn _god,_ a deity, a being of supposed superior existence. So high up on the food chain, it can't even be touched. This is the one that calls itself Truth.

The fanfiction stories from 2011 have it all wrong. Meeting the Truth is not an honor, it is not fun, and it most certainly is not a wanted experience. I wasn't too crazy about religion before and I'm definitely not now. Truth's physical form blends into the foreground and background. It's unnerving because the shadow everyone seems to think it has isn't what can really be considered a _shadow._ It hangs in the air around him, as if trying to mimic the physics that humans are most comfortable and coming up short. It also makes me think that the cloud is only there to give visitors of the Gate proof that Truth isn't just some voice in the back of their heads.

That leads to me specifically not wanting to know if Truth can take away the faux shadow.

 _I don't want to be here._

Being here, in his realm, means Equivalent Exchange. Something was taken in order for me to be here, and in return, I'm gonna get fucked over with something I didn't want in the first place. Everyone's like, "Take my kidney! I can live with only one!" or, "I can totally get automail! I don't even need to recover the full three years!" and my personal favorite, "You can just have my melatonin! Being albino will make me a main character!"

But what people don't understand is that you don't choose what Truth takes. It can take whatever it fucking wants, so long as it is equivalent to what you wanted. There aren't laws about this either, seeing as there is controversy in what is equivalent because of perspective. There is also the simple fact that _I didn't do anything to be here in the first place._

Didn't stop Truth taking Roy's sight in the 2009 reboot.

I'm exposed in this place, there is no where to hide. My dirtied sneakers and pants make me look homeless. It's not like my blouse or jacket make me look any better. Disheveled and feeling more than shitty, I just want to ignore the Truth's presence. My shoulder is messed up and I belatedly realize there's blood running from my nose.

 _ **"Do you know who I am, little human? Do you know what you've done?"**_

"No," my lips are moving without my permission, "I didn't do anything."

There's a deranged smile filled with perfectly straight, perfectly sized, and perfectly white teeth. Truth chuckles, a tiny bob of it's head, and it rises from it's crouch on the ground. _**"You know it does not matter."**_

"Yeah," I push up on my good hand to be kneeling on the ground, cradling my swelling wrist. My right leg is shaking with the effort of getting to my feet, my left foot bleeding through my sock and shoe. Slipping a bit on mud and blood, I'm steady enough to gingerly straighten my back and look directly at Truth.

It's silent for a bit. We're waiting for who will make the next move, and it's me.

"Who brought me here?" My arms cross protectively over my chest, "If you're going to take something, take it from the asshole that did this to me. 'Cause I know I wasn't doing anything to wind up here."

 _ **"Oh? Are you so sure about that? Humans have fickle memories, after all."**_ It's smile, if possible, broadens. The way Truth's blank face stares with such intensity, it's like it's...

 _Toying with me._

A scowl fixes itself on my face. "Yeah,"my hands clench into the zipper teeth on my jacket, _this bitch._ "I'm sure," with a tilt of my chin, I glare with every ounce of defiance I can muster underneath the exhaustion plaguing my muscles.

Seemingly pleased, Truth throws it's hands out. The door behind it creaks like a guillotine, about to send me off to my execution. _**"The one to open the bridge has already paid, Jessica Shellis."**_

I don't want to go in there. I really, _really_ don't want to. Hands, dark and slimy are extending from the darkness beyond the door. My feet aren't quick enough to escape them, even if I had somewhere to escape to. Doesn't keep me from shuffling away into what I presume is my own Portal back to my reality, doesn't keep me from trying to pry it open with my injured hand, and it definitely doesn't keep me from screaming bloody murder when I feel myself being lifted into the air.

There's a moment, a split second, where Truth and I stare. It flashes a quick grin, _**"Better be careful, who knows what could happen in there."**_

And my voice is cut off by the breathlessness of being pulled into another dimension.

Down, down, down again.


End file.
